歌词
In the realm of ancient games, unmatched in test,
Wrestling, O noble sport, stands supreme and blessed.
With disciplines entwined and trials so grand,
A complex dance, few can truly understand.
Six moons of rigorous toil and strain,
Training that scorches body and brain.
To make the weight each sacred week,
A Herculean feat that only gods might seek.
One hour hence, after the scales decree,
To peak in prowess, to rise, to be free.
Nutritional lore, an elusive art,
Perfected by few, mastered by heart.
I’ve seen the warriors, their bodies honed,
With discipline and knowledge, each ounce known.
In realms of youth, the journey starts,
Unprepared they venture, with hopeful hearts.
Do not mistake this humble plea,
To forsake the sport that shapes destiny.
For wrestling, though oft I claimed disdain,
In weight-cutting's grip, in ignorance’s pain.
Yet, O wrestling, how deep my love,
A struggle below, a triumph above.
With wisdom gained and battles fought,
In you, the purest joy is sought.
Thus, to the wrestlers, both young and old,
Embrace the challenge, be brave, be bold.
For in your trials, true glory lies,
A sport divine, beneath Olympus’ skies.
Verse 1
In the realm of ancient games, unmatched in test,
Wrestling, noble sport, stands supreme and blessed.
Disciplines entwined, trials so grand,
A complex dance, few can understand.
Chorus
Six moons of toil, rigorous strain,
Training that scorches body and brain.
To make the weight each sacred week,
A Herculean feat only gods might seek.
Verse 2
One hour hence, the scales decree,
To peak in prowess, rise and be free.
Nutritional lore, an elusive art,
Perfected by few, mastered by heart.
Chorus
Six moons of toil, rigorous strain,
Training that scorches body and brain.
To make the weight each sacred week,
A Herculean feat only gods might seek.
Bridge
I've seen the warriors, their bodies honed,
Discipline and knowledge, each ounce known.
In realms of youth, the journey starts,
Unprepared they venture, with hopeful hearts.
Verse 3
Do not mistake this humble plea,
To forsake the sport that shapes destiny.
Wrestling, though oft I claimed disdain,
In weight-cutting's grip, in ignorance’s pain.
Chorus
Six moons of toil, rigorous strain,
Training that scorches body and brain.
To make the weight each sacred week,
A Herculean feat only gods might seek.
Verse 4
Yet, O wrestling, how deep my love,
A struggle below, a triumph above.
